


Stanley Knew

by LapisLazooti



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Abuse, Referenced Past Bill/Ford, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 07:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7706425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapisLazooti/pseuds/LapisLazooti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew not all of the things that occured in those thirty years in the portal were as happy and whimsical as the stories he told Dipper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stanley Knew

Stanley knew. He knew from the look in his brother's eyes, and the quick swigs from a flask when he thought no one was looking.

He knew from his reaction when would Mabel come into the room quietly before suddenly announcing herself in a yell. He knew from when his turtleneck slipped down just enough to show a deep, discolored scar across his throat.

He knew not all of the things that occured in those thirty years in the portal were as happy and whimsical as the stories he told Dipper.

He knew.

Too heavy footsteps to be either of the younger set of twins slowly paced the kitchen. Soos had left for the night, so it couldn't have been him either. A couple of cabinets opened and closed, Stan heard. He sat up in his bed with a sigh, knowing who it was. He grabbed his glasses and looked at the clock. Nearly two in the morning.

Slipping his slippers on, he swore under his breath as he stepped out of his room. When he got to the kitchen he was met with exactly what he expected, Ford sitting at the table tilting a glass of whiskey in slight circles and spacing off.

"'Ey." He said, softer than he normally would. Ford still jumped, the glass clinking as it tapped against the table.

"Ah. Hello," He set the drink down and adjusted his glasses, a shaky breath passing his lips. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Readin' a few magazines." He stated, simply. A lie, but he was just as stubborn as his brother when It came to talking about his feelings and whatnot. He sat in the chair across from his twin, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. "You?"

"Studying. Decided to take a break." 

"You shouldn't be studying your stupid... Whatever you're working on now," he grumbled. rolling his eyes. He'd been through at least five projects in the week he'd been back. "In the middle of the night. You work all day anyway. You need your sleep."

Ford glanced up at him at that comment and wanted to roll his eyes. But he didn't. He stared back down at the alcoholic beverage in front of him. "What can I say? I've been gone for thirty years, I have a lot of unfinished projects and new ideas."

"Calm your shit poindexter, you're only sixty-five. You got some more years in ya to work on this stuff. But you won't if you keep refusing to take care of yourself." He gave the other a stern look, accompanied by a tight-lipped frown.

Ford didn't say a word, at first. "Who knows how many years the stress of merely trying to survive took off of my life. I may die next month, taking care of myself or not, Stanley." His voice dripped with bitterness as he clasped the glass in front of him between his hands tightly. "It doesn't matter."

"Stanford, It does matter. You--"

"In fact, I would almost prefer it." The bitterness of his tone faded. He just sounded downright pained, now. "Dying sooner rather than later, I mean."

Stanley stared at him blankly for a few moments before he stood up and grabbed another glass from the cabinet before taking a seat again, pouring himself a glass from the bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him. If his brother was opening up for the first time since their falling out, he was prepared to sit in this damn chair for the rest of the night and listen. He just needed to... Prepare himself a bit. "Why?" 

He took a swig of his whiskey and licked his lips. "All I really have is my projects. Not much to live for, is it?"

"You got more than that."

Ford shook his head. "Besides, I highly doubt nightmares can haunt you when you're dead." 

The two sat in silence for a minute or two, quietly nursing their drinks. "I didn't know you were havin' nightmares." Stan muttered.

"For over thirty years." His gaze temporarily met Stan's before he opted to stare down at the amber liquid again. "But they get worse as time goes on." 

"Hey, I know where you're coming from, but--"

"Bullshit, Stanley. You have no idea." There was that intense bitterness again.

"I had nightmares months after the.... Y'know..." He waved his hand in the air as he tried to get around saying it. "...The whole portal thing. I thought i'd killed you. I know it's not the same, but..." 

"The only being I could truly trust, whom I worshipped and loved, betrayed me. He gave me endless praise. He told me that we were this... Romantic, forbidden pair that no one could know about. I fell in love and all he wanted was a puppet. He used me. And I - I can't even think of the words to describe what happened in the past thirty years. It... I...." He was crying now, albeit discreetly. He set his glasses down on the table and brought his hand to his face to cover his teary eyes. He bit his bottom lip in hopes of pushing back any pitiful whimpers or sobs.

Stan stared wide-eyed, surprised at his brother's sudden spurt of emotions. Not only had he not seen his brother cry in at least forty years, it had been that long since they'd talked like this. Letting out suppressed feelings and struggles - it'd been awhile. He was at a bit of a loss as to what he should do or say. "Sixer..."

"I can't live like this anymore. If I have one more godforsaken nightmare... I'll do it. I'll end it all. Death is the only thing that can stop it."

His heart sunk, hearing this. He'd lost his brother before - he couldn't stand for it to happen again. Permanently. The fact that things were this bad, so bad that Ford was considering suicide, and Stan didn't know until now... It hurt him like a dagger to the heart. His brother didn't trust him enough to come to him for help. Or, more likely, was too angry at him... 

Again, he was at a loss for words. He thought back to their fight briefly and remembered that his brother wouldn't be having these nightmares if it weren't for him. He shook it off, this wasn't the time for self hate. Then he thought back to the night he received that fateful postcard from Gravity Falls. Okay, maybe it was the time for self hate. "Hey..."

Ford let his hand slid down his face so he could look at his twin. He hoped he couldn't tell he was crying, but that was a pipe dream. It was obvious that his eyes were red and his cheeks tear-stained. "What?" He croaked.

"I was homeless for awhile. I got involved in a hell lot of illegal stuff. Y'know... from scamming to drug dealing, I did it all." He chuckled dryly. "I was scared. Barely had enough money to pay for a shitty motel room, let alone pay back any debts. Didn't feel too great about myself, either. Felt worthless. lost. Like my life wasn't going anywhere. I felt stuck. Everything just kept getting worse and I didn't see anyway for that to change. So," He took a break from his story to finish his whiskey with one long drink. "One night in my motel room, I... Was gonna do it. I was going to shoot myself. I had the gun next to me and everythin'. I didn't see a purpose in staying alive. All I had to my name was criminal records, I felt worthless, I had no family.... And..."

"And?"

"And then I got that postcard from you, sayin' you wanted me to come to Oregon. And I thought, Oh, maybe I do still have family. Maybe I do have something more to do with my life."

Ford felt a pinch of guilt towards this knew information. Stanley was in such a dark place and somehow his postcard brought him hope, And yet all Stanford wanted then was for him to take the journal and leave. That didn't make him feel much better. "Okay?"

"Listen, I guess what i'm trying to say is... I don't know shit about the nightmares you're havin', but I know what it's like to feel like you don't have any other choice but to die. You kept me from doing it even if you didn't know, so I'll keep you from doing it. You ain't dying before me, Stanford."

"Aren't. 'Ain't' makes you sound illiterate." He smiled, wiping the remaining tears off of his cheeks.

Stanley knew. He knew from the goofy smile on his face and the mischievous look in his eyes. He knew things between them weren't fixed, he knew his brother wasn't completely swayed by this conversation and that his nightmares weren't going to magically go away because of this, but he knew at least some of what he said had gotten through to him.

He punched him in the shoulder playfully. "Bah, whatever, Poindexter. Any other emotional baggage ya need to get off of your chest while you're still tipsy and willing to talk?"

**Author's Note:**

> Not incredibly thrilled with how this turned out, but I figured I'd post it anyway!


End file.
